Going Native
by Arinia
Summary: Five years after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't, Crowley decides it's high time he finally asks for Aziraphale's hand in marriage. And what better way than an elaborate, grand, human-like proposal? Nothing could possibly go wrong... right?


Going Native

**A/N: **I had the pleasure of being part of the Good Omens Holiday Swap, and had an absolute blast writing this. The prompt asked for Crowley planning an elaborate proposal, the human way, and my muse ran away with me like always. It was nice to sit down and write some honest-to-goodness fluff for a change! For anyone who is following _TFWAS _I promise I haven't forgotten about it, and it and the missing scene compilation will be posted soon!

It was all because of that stupid Jumbotron.

That infernal, ridiculous human invention (and it _was_ the humans this time, nothing to do with Crowley, not at all). Its fault he was shivering from head to toe, trousers getting soaked _again_ kneeling in the snow, as Aziraphale stared and stared and stared some more.

Damn Fratton Park. Damn the Venetian Canals. Damn this whole idea, these whole hellish days.

And damn the bloody Jumbotrons.

In hindsight, Crowley wasn't sure what possessed them to come.

Neither of them were particularly big on sports. Sure, there had been the gladiator matches attended together, or those infamous medieval jousts. Where the crowds were thick and arms could brush up against each other, a shock of electricity hidden safely between the throngs of bodies.

But, Aziraphale preferred his arts, his plays and concerts, and Crowley rather missed the dizzying stakes from sports of old. Nevertheless, they had both agreed to try to emulate their former human charges as much as possible now, a show of loyalty for _their_ side. So there they were at Fratton Park, attending the local football match one warm, summer evening, tepid beer in their cups and sausages of questionable quality in their hands. (And if perhaps, the hard plastic chairs were far more comfortable than they should be, well neither of them would ever admit to bending the rules).

"This seems terribly expensive for something so salty." He could tell Aziraphale was trying not to pout as he carefully inspected the end of his sausage, mustard and ketchup dangling precariously over the edge of the bun. He stuck out like a sore thumb, with his prim khaki trousers and button up shirt, but he had at least left his Victorian ensemble at home. "Did you have a hand in this?"

"Retired, angel," he pointlessly reminded, nudging the far row of the stadium into starting a wave. It _had_ been a brainchild of his, overpriced food that the masses would gobble up no matter how endlessly they complained. "You were the one who insisted on getting it."

"Yes, well…" and there it was, the pout had emerged, a swell of affection rising up in Crowley with it.

"Arms up!" He raised Aziraphale's arm with him as the wave crested over their section, peals of laughter and groans and one startled gasp. Perhaps there was something the humans had gotten right with these modern day sports. Their energy was infectious, filling him up, stretching his mouth into a hard-fought grin. No watchful eyes from Head Office, no need to pretend. Five years and the novelty still hadn't worn off, moments like this, where Crowley could feel the weight ease just a bit more.

"Crowley! Really now, look at my trousers!" The ketchup and mustard had finally given way to gravity, and Crowley couldn't help but laugh, snapping the stain away and kissing Aziraphale's cheek. As if on cue, the Jumbotron began running its Kiss Cam, hopping to and fro across the stands, catching those delightful humans off guard.

"Come on now, give me a kiss. Don't you want to end up on the big screen?" Lips trailed across plump cheeks, inching closer to their goal, relishing in the warmth that bloomed across like a sun-soaked flower.

"No need to make a spectacle of ourselves." But, he could tell Aziraphale was trying and failing to remain sulky, the smile lines around his mouth twitching against Crowley's kiss.

It had taken _so_ long to get to this point. Endless steps and lonely nights and wondering if Aziraphale would ever return his affections. If he ever _could_ return his affections. Even now, with the concept of _them_ comfortable and familiar, Crowley never took these moments for granted, never let any opportunity to touch and taste slip by.

The screen flicked to a new image; a brief flash of one angel and demon lit up before panning down towards two young women a few rows in front. One laughed, turning to her partner with eyes that twinkled even at a distance, only to be met with her girlfriend slowly bending down on one knee.

_What's this?! _A voice boomed across the stands, as the crowd gasped in unison. _It seems like Alex has a question? Natasha, will you marry me?!_

Crowley felt his own smile flicker, a strange tightening in his chest as his gaze locked onto the couple. His hand came up to his heart, as if to make sure the box still remained, hidden out of sight. Thousands of eyes drinking the two in, bated breaths, waiting for the answer. Aziraphale's hand found his, gripping it tight, swept up by the magic of it all.

She nodded yes, flinging her arms around the other, the crowd cheering and clapping and the announcer expressing his joy. He could hear Aziraphale sigh beside him, slumping against his shoulder, beatific smile lighting his face.

"Oh, lovely! How wonderful! To express their love in front of everyone." He squeezed Crowley once more, tears in his eyes. "She must have planned that for so long."

Crowley's throat was dry, closed up as he stared at the two new fiancées. The box heavy in his pocket, weighted against his very skin. "Didn't you just call that thing a spectacle?" Difficult to speak, his own fantasies swarming to his mind's eye.

"Oh, but not for something like this! Humans love partaking in the joy of others, and what better way than that?" He waved his hand, in what Crowley recognized as a blessing, towards the pair. "Besides, a proposal should be a bit theatrical, don't you think?"

Crowley was grateful for his glasses, lest his traitorous eyes give everything away. He had been waiting for the right moment, somewhere quiet, something simple. But, perhaps he had been thinking all wrong. Simple and quiet, that's not what Aziraphale deserved.

It's not what humans did…

One girl, Natasha, turned to scan the crowd, her gaze falling on Crowley for one brief moment. Warm, rich brown eyes stared right through him, almost as if she knew.

Crowley nodded, mind made up, fingers closing around the box and sealing his fate.

! ! ! !

"We should do something. Something different."

Aziraphale surveyed him over his tea, face pleasantly blank, but clever eyes sharp and cutting right through him. Crowley tried to mask his pounding heart, a violent tattoo against his throat, kicking his legs up despite Aziraphale's protests.

"And what did you have in mind? Legs off darling, please, I hardly have room to eat."

Long limbs slid back to the floor, Crowley leaning forward as if his hands weren't quaking beneath the table, as if he had not spent the last year meticulously planning and making sure everything lined up just so. "I hear scavenger hunts are pretty big with humans these days."

"Are they now? Would you have anything to do with that?" Crowley smirked, fingers endlessly twitching against his leg, mind frantic with what he was about to do.

"Nah." A lie neither of them believed. "They're getting pretty elaborate too, y'know. Spanning whole countries even. And there's a special little prize at the end for the winner."

The tea cup was down, eyebrows raised. Crowley could not falter, could not give any hint that anything was amiss. Hard to look at Aziraphale sometimes, to stare into the face of such beauty. "A prize? What are you up to, you old serpent?" His hand found one of Crowley's, it always seemed to these days. "I suppose I'll have to agree to this to find out, hm?"

His smirk softened just a fraction, nearly impossible to keep up the façade when Aziraphale looked at him like that. He nearly spoiled his own plans, aching to take Aziraphale into his arms, to ask the question that had burned longer than he dared to admit.

Stubbornness won out, and he dangled a piece of paper between them, eyebrow cocked in his most tempting expression. "Is that a yes, angel?"

Aziraphale's hand slipped further under his sleeve, ghosting over his racing pulse, and for a terrifying moment Crowley swore he knew the whole damn thing. Heaving a very put upon sigh, he nodded.

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest right then and there, snatching the paper away from Aziraphale's outstretched hand. Calm, calm, it was more than time to do this, there would never be another chance. "Just one rule. To make it interesting." Luckily, his voice, unlike his skittering heart, did not betray him.

"And what's that?"

"No miracles._ Only_ to get from one place to another. Otherwise," he paused, leaning closer, seeing his own face reflected back to him in Aziraphale's eyes, "everything else is the human way."

Aziraphale chuckled, low and deep, a shiver racing down Crowley's spine in response. Surely he didn't know, surely Crowley had managed to hide it properly, right? "Alright. I suppose that could be rather exciting. Though, you cannot break your own rules, either!"

"Me? Break the rules. Never." His throat was thick all of a sudden, and he handed over the first clue, trying not to feel as if he had yet again set his own downfall in motion.

"_The place where it all began… _goodness, where what began?" He turned over the paper but no more was written. "Darling, you can't honestly expect me to solve your puzzles with such vague clues!"

Crowley swallowed against the thickness, against the memories flooding through his brain. His flimsy armor had been done away with long ago with Aziraphale, try as he might to cling onto it. Faint vestiges of pride that told him to hide away, to not bare his soul, not even for Aziraphale.

He took his hand, gave it a squeeze, relishing in the soft skin underneath his own. There was no time for old habits today. "Think about it. Where… everything began_. Everything_, Aziraphale."

Understanding dawned, Aziraphale squeezing his hand in return, and with a snap, they were gone.

! ! ! !

Since the dawn of time, humans had sought to find their former paradise. None had succeeded; the lingering effects of a rather tetchy God.

But, it was hiding in plain sight, the lushness apparent even thousands of years later, grown into a thick forest where animals thrived and humans dared not tread. It was here that one angel and demon could be found, the former getting somewhat frustrated at their agreed "human way" rule.

"Can't you give me a hint, Crowley? Just a word even, there's a good fellow."

"I'm not giving anyone who still uses the term _fellow_ in casual speech a hint, angel." A very annoyed huff was the reply, a tantalizing bead of sweat racing down the curve of his neck, tempting bony fingers to wipe it away. Aziraphale frowned up at him under tousled curls, and it was all Crowley could do not to bury his lips in them.

And he had been the supposed tempter for all those years…

There was a glint in those eyes that Crowley was all too familiar with, Aziraphale pressing closer, resting his chin against his shoulder, a sigh that sent warmth flooding to Crowley's cheeks. "You've worked so hard at this little project, haven't you."

Crowley tried not to sputter at the hand creeping up along his chest. "No. Maybe. Just somethin' I threw together, really."

"I do so want to continue. To see all the little clues you've come up with and this very intriguing prize at the end." A finger tangled around his chest hair, pulling just enough to make Crowley swallow and forget for a moment why he was doing this.

"Y-Yeah?" Damnit. He was caving. Crumbling into fine dust, just like always. A bat of eyelashes and delicate strokes, and he was putty. Aziraphale nuzzled closer, lips close, oh so close, to his sharp jaw.

"Yes. So please, darling, my Crowley, can't you just give me one _tiny_ hint? Just for this first clue?"

Now was not the time for heated kisses, but if there was one thing Crowley was quite good at, it was doing things at exactly the wrong sort of times. He pulled that flushed face to his own, kissing and kissing until stars swarmed before his vision, the treasured little box nearly shaking loose from its hiding place. Aziraphale responded in kind, a dangerous little moan into his mouth, here, hidden away in a place that only they could find.

"Alright, alright!" He was panting, a most undignified thing, lips bruised and wonderfully well kissed. "_One_ hint, Aziraphale, and that's all you're getting the rest of the scavenger hunt, and no amount of _wiles_ is gonna change my mind!"

Aziraphale looked far too pleased, retired angel or not. "I do not dispense wiles, but point taken. One hint and that's that."

A steadying breath, hands running down clothes that had been rumpled and ruefully nothing more. The little box bumped up against his fingers, and Crowley's nerves fluttered once more.

"There's… there's not much left from those days." If Aziraphale wanted to play his games, Crowley could too, jamming his hands in his useless pockets and circling him. "S'all overgrown and Adam and Eve never had much time for decorating."

Aziraphale's gaze was steady, eyebrows furrowed as he hung on every word. "But, there is _one_ thing that's still here. Sturdy enough to survive thousands of years." He cleared his throat, tamping down on the flicker of vulnerability. "Something that… maybe… two occult forces could stand on and… watch the first rain together."

It was a testament to Aziraphale's excitement that the word 'occult' was ignored, hands fluttering wildly by his sides as he zeroed in on a few age-worn rocks hidden beneath the overgrowth. He made a beeline for them, moving in a way that should have ripped 150 year old trousers, but Crowley pretended not to notice for now.

The wall had collapsed eons ago, and Crowley had nearly despaired before finding the few survivors, jagged and barely recognizable, but still there.

Still there.

Aziraphale's hands were trembling, he realized, as he unearthed another paper and with it a sleek, black feather, that glimmered under the rays of sunlight. "Oh, Crowley!" he whispered, such fondness laced in his voice that Crowley's wings shook and ached to burst free. "You didn't tell me there would be gifts along the way as well!"

Crowley wanted to growl and say they were not gifts, they were not pieces of his heart scattered across the globe in a grand gesture that would make even the most ridiculous rom-coms look even-handed. Instead, he shut his eyes, steeling himself against those blasted nerves, because this was Aziraphale.

This is who all this was for.

"You know… to keep you interested and shit. Tempt you to keep going to the grand finale."

The playfulness melted away for a moment, and they were staring at each other as if no time had passed, as if the warm breeze blowing through their hair contained the first whispers of rainfall. Aziraphale ran the feather across his lips, eyes closing, and Crowley felt that old surge of disbelief that this was the life he got to live.

"Well go on then, we're doing things the human way, don't want to waste any time. What's the next clue say."

"_Where one tongue becomes many, and an angel first saves a demon's life. _My," he said delicately, eyes never leaving Crowley's, "you really are taking us back to the beginning."

Crowley said nothing, extending his hand for Aziraphale's, every edge of the little box etched into his flesh.

! ! ! !

Things had been going well.

Miraculously, spectacularly _well_.

True to his word, Aziraphale had not wheedled for any more hints, sharp mind piecing together the fragments of poetry Crowley had left for him. And, they had both been obeying their "human way only" rule, Aziraphale's beloved trousers smeared with dirt and grime, and perfectly manicured hands perfect no more. (Though, Crowley had allowed a rucksack to be pulled from the air, if only to stop Aziraphale's whinging that he couldn't possibly carry all these treasures and he would feel so wretched if he lost a single one).

But, Aziraphale had thrown himself into the hunt, delighted cries with each clue uncovered, with each piece of their long, long history in his hands. Crowley's doubts were beginning to ease, and he was fairly certain that Aziraphale had no idea at all what "prize" awaited him at the end.

He could do this.

Well, he _was_ doing this. Rather late to back out now.

The last clue had been an easy one: _Under the high sandstone walls of the Nabataeans, a demon first sings away the tears of a doubtful angel. _Aziraphale had snapped them to Petra immediately. Crowley had been there before, of course, to stow away the wood-carved flute Aziraphale had handed him that fateful day, but being here once more made a profound sadness fill his chest.

He could remember those tears all too well, a verbal lashing from Gabriel that had left Aziraphale shaken. Demons were not supposed to indulge in singing, unless it was to tempt humans away with false promises of sex and money; rusty voices that contained shards of damnation.

But, Crowley had never been a particularly good demon, not even back then. Especially not when it came to Aziraphale. For all his banging on about _celestial harmonies,_ the truth was angels' voices were glimpses of the Divine, still waters and peace to all who heard. Crowley was certain that his Fall had left his voice barren, just like all the rest of him.

He had sung all the same, unsure and hesitant, watching Aziraphale grow very still and his eyes grow very wide. In a language human ears had not heard in centuries, but one he could recite by heart even now. Aziraphale had listened, tear tracks drying as the fire lit their faces, and he had never once flinched.

Later he had pressed the very flute Crowley had hidden into his hands, a soft confession that he would like to hear Crowley sing again some time, hushed tones lest the wrong sort overhear.

Crowley was planning on dredging up his unused singing voice today, no matter how awkward it all felt. Aziraphale's confession back then had said more than perhaps he had intended to convey, and what better day for gut-wrenching, soul-bearing moments like _singing_ than today?

Except.

Crowley hadn't counted on company.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale mumbled, staring up at the awe-inspiring face of the Treasury as crowds jostled around them. "It's rather busy today, isn't it?"

Rather busy was the understatement of the century as far as Crowley was concerned. When he had come here, two months ago, he had mustered up every demonic wile to keep any prying eyes away, and a few more to keep the flute and clue safe from curious hands.

Crowley was not a demon today. And Aziraphale was not an angel. And the humans had done what humans liked to do, and swarmed Jordan's most famous tourist site.

"Fuck," was Crowley's eloquent response, jaw clenched so hard his teeth nearly cracked. The items were hidden deep in the ancient city, tucked away in a place that any human officials would certainly not appreciate two human looking beings poking around in. Done in by his own cleverness once more, a fate he seemed doomed to even with Hell relegated to the past.

"Well," Aziraphale said with more amusement than Crowley had anticipated, threading their hands together, "we are human today aren't we. We mustn't dawdle any longer, I do believe they close the attraction at a certain point."

Ah. Right. Tourist attractions closed for the night. And humans had to obey those hours.

Fuck, fuck.

They weaved in and out of the crowds, unintentionally photo-bombing passing tourists with their selfie sticks that Crowley had taken credit for, and having to dodge a horse and small carriage every few minutes. Hard to admire the breath-taking beauty of these ancient walls, when a French couple so kindly asked Aziraphale to take their picture, and a small child dropped an ice cream cone on Crowley's scaly feet.

"You'll never bloody find it with all of them around," Crowley grouched, after having his shoulder knocked into for the umpteenth time.

Aziraphale only laughed, a high, clear thing that made the humans around them break out into a smile without quite knowing why. "Chin up, my dear! I'll find it in good time, don't you worry. It's more challenging this way, it's been too easy so far."

"_Easy?!_"

Aziraphale stole a quick kiss, that only barely smoothed the frown from Crowley's lips. "Your writing is very lovely and very informative! I hardly need any hints at all, and I do thank you for that."

It was Crowley who had spoken aloud that Aziraphale's bastard side was admirable and enticing. It was Crowley who had hissed that word among tangled sheets and limbs as they marked each other's bodies.

And that all too innocent smile said that Aziraphale certainly remembered.

Hours passed and Aziraphale was still no closer to finding the flute, the sunlight beginning to wane but the crowds still thick. Crowley was close to breaking the rule he had so gleefully imposed, if only to get out of this packed city, when Aziraphale let out a triumphant gasp.

"Crowley! It was here, wasn't it! Here where you sang to me!"

Thankfully, mercifully, it was.

"Right, right, now find the damn thing so we can move along. I've got bruises on my shoulder from all these bloody people." There would be no singing today, and that was putting quite the damper on Crowley's enthusiasm, even if a small part of him was relieved. He absently rubbed his chest, where the box was miracled away from Aziraphale's touch. It would all be worth it. It had to be worth it. Aziraphale would say yes.

Wouldn't he?

"Aha! I've found it!" Aziraphale had wrestled quite a few sizable rocks aside, and the flute shone in his grasp. Unfortunately, his yell and his mini-excavation had attracted the attention of a few Jordanian officials.

"Angel…"

"Oh, this flute! Crowley, I-I didn't even know you had kept this all these years."

Crowley should be swooning with all that pristine love heavy in those words, at Aziraphale's hands scrabbling to touch, to caress. But, the officials looked mad, and they were attracting a crowd of gawkers.

"Angel, read the clue! Right now would be good!"

Aziraphale read it once, twice, and Crowley was beginning to fidget, any fantasies of singing even quietly fleeing with every step the officials took towards them.

"Aziraphale! Unless you want to spend the night in a human jail!"

"Japan!" Aziraphale grinned, as if they weren't about to face arrest and certain deportation. "My, I can't wait! Come along, Crowley, not a moment to waste!"

When the officials reached their target, they only found the rocks back in place, and a crowd of tourists snapping pictures. They could only laugh, shaking their heads, blaming the unrelenting heat for conjuring up strange phantoms.

! ! ! !

Crowley loved humans.

Always had, if he was being honest with himself. It wasn't just because of Aziraphale that he had willingly risked extinction to thwart Armageddon. Fascinating, witty creatures that they were, with their cars and music and inexhaustible supplies of alcohol.

Crowley loved humans.

He hated tourists.

It was a discovery he had made throughout the days. Each step through history, inching closer to modern times, only made the crowds thicker and his grand vision more impossible. It seemed their love of rubbing shoulders with the whos-whos of days gone by (and their assignments demanding they influence said Very Important People at that) was also of interest to their beloved human beings.

The Globe had taken hours, not least because _Hamlet_ was on the bill (and what luck, what fate that was, perhaps God was toying with them in Her own ineffable way) and Aziraphale insisted on watching it. Crowley had nearly careened off the edge of Machu Picchu after being bumped by some very excited university students as Aziraphale marveled at the sweeping views. And there were not enough words in any of the languages he knew to describe his frustration at being separated by a fuckingparade that had unexpectedly marched down the streets of Munich and having missed Aziraphale finding the broach they had forged together.

All that is to say, as they waited in line for their canal river tour, dust covering their hair and stains all over their clothes, that Crowley was not particularly pleased with how his scavenger hunt was being thwarted.

Aziraphale, at least, was still in remarkably good spirits.

"I did hear that Venice has become quite popular the last few years!" Aziraphale cheerily waved at the American couple that was pulling up to the port, drunkenly swaying and telling him they had kept the boat safe for them to use. "Oh, thank you, that was very kind of you." A wink and a smile and the couple was blessed, as Aziraphale settled into the boat with a satisfied sigh.

"Not supposed to be doing that," the storm cloud that was Crowley muttered, kicking the boat off the wall before their poor gondolier had steadied himself.

Aziraphale pulled him close, a tender kiss bestowed on his crown and mouth, something soothing unfurling in Crowley's chest that defied explanation. "Do cheer up, Crowley. I'm having a ball." And he meant it, Crowley could tell, with the way he looked at him, smiles that lit his eyes and arms that sought to keep Crowley near.

He wanted to be stubborn, that old pride rearing its head, but the gentle rock of the water and the dulcet tones of their gondolier were beginning to have an effect. Aziraphale was having fun, and they were only one stop from the final destination now, where it would all come together.

For better or worse.

Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and Crowley once again recited his speech to himself as he swayed in Aziraphale's arms. If Aziraphale was happy and awash in all those memories he'd be more likely to say yes, even out of pity (pity, is that what Crowley hoped for? Pity rather than rejection?) He expelled a long, slow breath, grateful for the glasses that allowed him to squeeze his eyes shut without anyone being the wiser.

"I remember coming here with you. Not so long ago, was it?"

Crowley swallowed, attempted a careless smile that cracked his face. "Couple years, yeah. Was it you who picked it or me?" He knew very well who picked it, in the back of a brand new bookshop, ash in the air that only Crowley could smell.

"Can't remember now. Must be the old age catching up with me." They sighed in harmony, Aziraphale's heart a steady drum beat against his spine. "It had been nice to get out of London. Together."

Together. The word hung between them. Together since the beginning. Together only five years. _Where an angel and demon first kissed_ had been the clue that brought them here, where tears had slipped into hesitant mouths, where they finally felt free at last.

They rounded a bend, and this time the clue was in plain sight, a bottle tucked away in a crook under an approaching bridge, and thank _Someone_ that Crowley's influence had kept it safe.

Why then, was some strange man in a fellow gondola reaching for it?

"Hey! HEY!" Crowley waved his arms, forked tongue slipping out without realizing. "Get away from there! That's not yours!"

But, the man either did not hear or did not care, popping the cork and reaching inside…

Crowley nearly snapped his fingers, fuck the rules, this was too important, when Aziraphale's hand closed around his wrist, an almost devilish smile on his face.

"No miracles, darling!"

He sputtered, indignant, protesting and complaining and nearly spilling the truth about the whole affair. The man was pulling out the papers now and something in Crowley, demon, human, snake, he wasn't sure, demanded action.

He was in the water before he could talk himself out of it, glasses getting lost in the waves and long hair fanning out behind him as he splashed and swore towards the now very frightened tourist. There were flashes of light all around him, and dozens of phones greeting him at every turn. The man dropped the papers in surprise, and Crowley's eyes widened, flinging out his hands and saving a small scrap, charred at the edges from destruction.

"I'm s-sorry!" the man held up his hands, fixated on the blown out yellow eyes. "I didn't think-"

Crowley was sorely tempted to strike fear into the man further. Perhaps twist his head around _Exorcist_ style or make blood drip from his eyes. The poor little clue had sunk beneath the waters of the canal and one of the most important treasures of them all had nearly met the same fate.

Perhaps falling head over heels with a being of light and joy was rubbing off on Crowley. He only grit his teeth, swore some more in a few more languages, before swimming back to his gondola in as dignified of a manner as he could manage, one hand held high into the sky.

There was a beat of silence after he squirmed and cursed his way back into the boat, Aziraphale's hands covering his mouth and shoulders suspiciously shaking. Their eyes met and Aziraphale cleared his throat much too loudly, lips twitching like mad.

"You seem to have gotten a little wet, I'm afraid."

Crowley was actually doing this. He was actually about to sink down onto one knee and ask this bleedin' angel who was sitting there laughing at him to be his one and only until the end of time.

"Clue's gone." There were still far too many eyes cast in their direction and Crowley had already decided that these videos would never see the light of day. He handed over the scrap of paper, watched as Aziraphale's mirth faded into something much more somber.

"Agnes' last prophecy," he breathed.

Aziraphale had never given it to Crowley per se. It had sat on his bedside table after _that_ night, and neither of them seemed to want to disturb it, some great power emanating from that ancient paper. Crowley had hemmed and hawed over bringing it out at all, and now he was cursing himself for taking that risk, this paper that had gifted them liberation.

"I think," he was panting and dripping and his curls were plastered to his forehead and arms, "that I'm saying a big fuck you to the no more miracles rule."

Aziraphale wound a strand of dark red hair around his finger, eyes over-bright in a way that made Crowley feel all sorts of things a demon should not be capable of feeling. "Perhaps it's for the best. Are there many more clues after this?"

His stomach swooped as he again realized what he was about to do. He looked left, he looked right, he looked anywhere but the face that had been chiseled into ethereal perfection.

"N-nah. 's the last clue. Uh, I'll just- uh, I'll get it-"

A hand tilted his chin back, gentle, so gentle, and it made his throat itch and burn with how much damn _love_ radiated from such a simple gesture. "Maybe for this one, you could say it?"

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, exposed in a way he still wasn't quite at ease with yet. "It's… well, it's… uhm, the first… the first…"

The world was fading, sounds and images bleeding at the edges, and Crowley could only grip their hands tight in thanks, because his voice had seemingly abandoned him.

"First time I… said…" He was going to have to say it. He had said it dozens, hundreds, thousands of times before. But, it had never felt more raw, more breathless and vulnerable, than right now.

"That… I love you."

A breath sucked in, and Aziraphale pressed their foreheads together, a warmth, splendid and wonderful soaking up all that water, seeking out every inch of him to caress and care for. Nothing more needed to be said, and Venice faded out of sight, the humans never noticing a thing.

! ! ! !

Neither snakes or demons much cared for the cold.

One Aziraphale did, however, and so that's where they found themselves, deep in the Lapland forest, in the very same glass igloo they had been in all those years ago.

The time between that first kiss and _this_ hadn't been long at all. Freedom seemed to dislodge a lot of pent up things rather abruptly. An unspoken agreement to leave London far behind, at least temporarily, and they had moved swiftly from place to place, a momentum growing and growing as thousands of years of hidden desires made themselves known.

Crowley was jittery, teeth rattling in his mouth ("'m fine, Aziraphale, just fuckin' cold.") and watching as Aziraphale gently picked his away around the bedroom. He had tried six times already to take them outside, his voice dying into a rather pathetic squeak whenever Aziraphale glanced curiously his way.

"You've hidden this clue quite well," he mused, sitting beside him and taking up his hand. They had unabashedly celebrated in using their powers once more, donning winter clothes and stocking the room with heaps of alcohol and sweets. A musky scent filled his lungs, burning and arousing, as Aziraphale laid his head to rest on his shoulder, sighing in satisfaction.

"Guess so."

Nothing had gone right at all. Annoyance crashed together with his already strung-out nerves and Crowley was beginning to second guess himself. The box, which had survived their globe-trotting adventures and run-ins with all the humans was marking him, searing him.

He had to do this. He couldn't collapse right before the finish line. He wasn't a coward.

"Let's go outside." He stood without warning, jamming his hat around his head and heading towards the door. "See the Northern Lights better."

They were outside alright, and the sky danced above them. Crowley could normally stare at them for hours, days even, a bittersweet taste on his tongue, memories of the first solar flare that had burst across the heavens.

Tonight however the lights seemed to mock him. Remind him of his heart pounding away, and his limbs quivering in the ankle deep snow, and the little box that held his very soul. He turned to Aziraphale who had his head cocked to the side, curls poking out from under his hat-

And forgot everything he wanted to say.

He must have stood there, mouth hanging open like a fish, for much too long for Aziraphale to pretend he wasn't. "Crowley?" And his voice was clear, and rich, and said in the way he had said his name countless times before.

"Nothing's gone right, you know." Well, then. That was a bloody good start.

"Oh? Were there some clues I didn't find?"

"No. Fuck. _No_." He was blowing this. The most important moment of his entire goddamn existence and he was _blowing_ it.

"'s just, fuck, the humans." He couldn't stay still, his legs shook too much and he was close to keeling over in the snow and _that_ would ruin things even more. "They were in the way at almost every place! And-and y'know, all the fucking tourists, especially that last guy, and it's not how I planned it to go and it's not what you deserve and I know you hated getting your blasted trousers all mucked up…"

Aziraphale's hands were fluttering at his sides, a sure sign of wanting to touch Crowley but not entirely sure where or how. "I didn't mind at all, Crowley. Truly! I meant what I said; this was a jolly good time! An adventure for the ages. The humans made it so exciting."

"No, _no,_ you don't understand." He dug his knuckles into his eyes, wished for his glasses, and then wished to rewind time to start over. Images plagued him; of Aziraphale laughing outright, or worse, getting eerily, horribly quiet, and staring at him with such pity that Crowley would have thrown away the last five years-

There was a hand on his arm, thumb rubbing circles into the crook of his elbow. "What has got you so out of sorts? Dearest, talk to me, you've been on edge ever since Venice."

"I love you!" It burst out of him, a swollen dam that could take no more, water gushing out of every crevice. "I love you so much it makes me fucking sick at times. You deserve the world, you always have, even when you annoy the ever loving shit out of me with your blasted magic tricks, or your out of date fashion, or that disgustingly sweet wine you love so much, and it is disgusting, angel, it truly is."

It was a mighty good thing Crowley was not human or he'd be quite out of breath by now, hand clutching at his chest, and eyes suddenly wet. It was Aziraphale's turn to gape at him like a hapless fish, grip tightening on Crowley's arm.

"I've loved you since the beginning, you know that, fuck sake you had me without even trying. I don't even wanna imagine what it would have been like without you, what _I _would have been like. And this whole thing, this stupid scavenger hunt, I just… I wanted to show you that it all meant everything to me, every little thing we did together, even if it was stupid shit like who could make the most candles, fuck you remember that? You were always there, angel, even when you couldn't be, you still tried, and that was more than they or _She_ ever fucking gave me."

A proposal was not supposed to have so many curse words, a small part of Crowley realized. Nor was it supposed to flow out like an endless stream of cheap liquor, tart and rough, but it was far too late now. His speech, so carefully constructed, was gone somewhere in the stars above, impossible to retrieve.

"I love you, damnit. If Armageddon did happen and they had their way I couldn't have- I wouldn't have-" His cheeks were wet, salt heavy on his tongue, oh so this was how this was going to go.

"I don't take any of this for granted. S'all fine and fun now, but they'll be back." Aziraphale let out a small sound that nearly tore Crowley right then and there. "We're on our side, humanity's side, and look… look I know this is… ridiculous to even ask, but there's no one else I'd ever want to, or even think about asking, because it does mean something sort of… fuck, _special_ and I don't want to waste any more time…"

The box at last saw the world once more, popped open in Crowley's palm as he sank to one knee in the soft, cold snow.

"So… what do ya say? Will… will you marry me, Aziraphale?"

Somewhere along the way, snow had begun to fall, gentle and quiet. Dusting their hair, their gloves, and coats, clinging to their eyelashes and lips. Silent, far too silent, where Crowley could hear his blood rushing to his ears, the stuttered breaths of the angel in front of him.

Who was staring at him.

And staring.

Crowley's heart shuddered to a stop, creaking and wailing as he realized that he had horribly miscalculated, that Aziraphale did not want this at all.

He cast his eyes downward. "Sorry, I'll-"

The snow crunched in front of him, something wonderfully heavy and soft collapsing into it with a s_plat_. There were hands on his cheeks, and oh, there was Aziraphale's face swimming in front him, slightly blurry, lips trembling and Crowley was half sure it wasn't because of the temperature.

"So…this-this little scavenger hunt of yours and all those t-treasures-" not very often that Aziraphale struggled for words, poet's heart that he had, "they were all a-a ruse for this?"

Crowley felt very hot under the collar despite his trousers being drenched and icy. "Well, uh, you did say a proposal should be _theatrical_. And I did say there was, y'know, a prize at the… the end…"

A moment, still and taut, before it snapped.

Aziraphale peppered his face with kisses, laughing and crying and attempting to both hug and be held simultaneously. "Oh, you beast! You wonderful, perfect demon!" He was close to sobbing, and old instincts demanded Crowley comfort him, pull him close and secure.

"I should have known you were up to something," he laughed, lips spilling joy against his neck. "I got so caught up in all the memories, oh, Crowley, you-you have no idea how _happy_ you've made me these past few days. It was everything I could have wanted for a proposal."

Crowley's mind was sluggish, a realization surfacing that Aziraphale was not turning and walking away from him, that he was wiggling in his grasp, laughs like windchimes in the evening breeze. _Everything I could have wanted for a proposal._

Wait.

"Does… is that a yes?"

Aziraphale pulled back. His cheeks were glistening. Eyes glimmering. His hat had come off and the curls fell every which way.

_God_. He was beautiful.

"Yes." Breathless. A hush, a whisper, a fervent prayer. Eons stretching and snapping back, all contained in one, solitary word.

Crowley swallowed. _Yes_. A grin stretched across his face, ear to ear. _Yes_. He pulled out the ring, crafted with his own two hands. _Yes_. Diamonds and sky blue gems all carefully placed along a swirl of ancient gold. _Yes_. He slipped it onto Aziraphale's finger, saw it settle there, perfect, perfect.

"You said yes."

"I did."

He wasn't sure when they had begun kissing. Who started it. It hardly mattered. Passionate and bruising, because words were no longer enough. Hands tangled in each other's hair, bodies flush together, there in the snow, despite their little igloo being mere feet away. Crowley could taste Aziraphale, that tongue flicking inside his mouth, heat racing to his groin and making his trousers tight.

"I love you, Crowley," Aziraphale gasped between kisses, hot and heavy, smeared down his neck, fingers fumbling for more. "I love you more than I can ever begin to describe. I'm yours, always, always."

Aziraphale was going to marry him. Crowley grabbed the hand with the ring, kissing and sucking and laughing until his cheeks began to hurt. That silly, human invention and now it was _theirs_ too. It should not mean so much to immortal beings, born before time had even begun, but Crowley had never felt so complete, never felt so assured that he had done something right.

"Gonna take my last name?" They should be cold, half naked like this, with the snow still running rivulets down their skin. But, Crowley only felt fire, the fire that burned and cleansed, with plump lips working their way down his torso.

"Goodness, I hadn't even thought about it." He paused at his belt, positively beaming up at him. "You could take my last name, too. Hyphenate it. That's very _en vogue_ as they say."

"No one says that, angel. No one at all. Behind the times as always."

"Hush you. Or I'll make our first dance the gavotte."

"You wouldn't."

"And I'll even entertain with my very own magic show at dinner, and you shan't say a word about it."

Aziraphale was above him, beautiful and soft, Northern Lights illuminating every gentle curve. Their clothes would later be found neatly folded in their bedroom, warm and dry, with bottles of champagne and rose petals on the sheets. They would lie together and fuss and argue over the details, as gentle hands stroked flushed cheeks.

But, for now, they were here, euphoria bursting with every kiss and touch. Naked as the day God breathed them to life, soon to be joined together in human matrimony.

And Crowley would thank _Someone_ he had Aziraphale. Thank _Someone_ that no matter what came their way, they would never be ripped asunder again.

And why, he even thanked the bloody Jumbotrons.


End file.
